you're doing a slash story without just being like "Then Johnny went crazy and raped Edgar, but Edgar enjoyed it, so they cuddled on the couch like snuggly teddy bears. The end." ~ Crystal Dream

It was a dark and stormy night.

It was this night that the fey and beautiful young man known as Edgar Vargas was awake, awake and thinking. He always thought, because that was what beautiful young men such as Edgar Vargas would do late at night. Why is such an originally non-descript young man suddenly so beautiful? Why, because he is now inexplicably gay and equally inexplicably in a relationship, and SOMEONE has to be the bottom here, and THAT someone has to be a woman (beautiful) with a penis. And I'm afraid poor boxy Edgar has drawn the short straw here and wow, there went the fourth wall. I knew it.

It was a dark and stormy night, and our Edgar was staring out the window. Such staring he was doing, as he thought.

Now for entirely unnecessary and overblown description of how he appears, even though it's not important and will not be referenced later unless in a sex scene. This may be potentially shorter then it really should be for parody purposes, but that would be because I have a short attention span.

So Edgar, whose nose was once long and ungainly and box shaped, much like the rest of his head, now has an aquiline nose, to borrow from Harry Potter fandom and their obsession with Snape. A fine, roman nose this Edgar now has. Yes. It accents his high feminine...I mean, slender cheekbones. How can cheekbones be slender? You read a badfic and tell me.

Also, while Edgar's hair appeared stringy and thin originally, it is now gorgeous, lustrous, black, and shiny. Sorry, not just black. It's now raven black. Raven wing black. It shines so strongly that it can cause grown men to explode with desire when they gaze upon it. His hair is that beautiful. So is his goatee, but this may be the first badly-written slashfic to involve someone with facial hair, so I'm not sure how to go about that. Anyway. While Edgar, like everyone else in Jhonen-verse, originally appeared as if he were starving to death, now he is slender. He has nice curvy hips now, even though no man would have such things. He has a lovely body. That's right. He's pretty now. Waiflike. Hehe. Waif-Edgar. This is because people can't have sex or fall in love unless they're hot. It's a rule. Unattractive people reproduce asexually.

Edgar is wearing his normal clothes, which makes it difficult to go into real great detail about them, as any classic bad sue/slash fic would do. Slash fic, you say? Of course. Many slash fics involve stus. Go ahead, check amongst yourselves.

Anyway, Edgar's got on his normal striped shirt. I decided on grey for it myself, but it could be any color. In fact, now his shirt is bright flaming pink. Because right now Edgar is flaming. FA~LAMING. He's also got on his black pants, which I assume were normal black pants in Jhonen-verse due to everyone's incredibly thinness, but they are now very tight pants. I'd make them leather pants, but that hurts me a little inside. So they're just denim. They also cling to Edgar's very feminine curves which he now has like a bad sexual metaphor.

He also has gorgeous eyes, but for this kind of fic I really should be calling them orbs. Ugh. That made me shudder.

So Edgar is staring out this window. Why isn't anything happening? Why, this is mood, you plebian! Can't you recognize a mood fic when you read one? Nothing has to happen at all! I just have to convey the fact that Edgar thought and stared and perhaps felt some emotion that could be summed up in one word, but instead will be waffled around for ten pages.

It was a very dark and stormy night, so much so that Edgar could see very little outside. Why was he looking outside then? Because that's what people do when it rains. Go watch a movie and see for yourself. People love to watch the rain. It's fascinating. Fascinating.

Edgar sighs wistfully to himself, apparently having adapted to his new woman-with-a-penis facade better then most. Perhaps this won't be as difficult as I imagined! He stares out and thinks about his one true love. They are truly meant to be.

Of course, you know of whom I speak.

Edgar continues to stare out the window at nothing, while speaking in a rather feminine and lilting voice. "Oh, if only he were here right now! I feel so lonely when he's gone...I think I'll email myself."

I can't decide if this is horrifying or hilarious. I MUST PERSERVERE.

Edgar thinks about his honey. HEEHEEHEE. There we go. Yes. Despite everything in canon stating that Johnny is asexual at most, remarkably bad at any kind of relationship at least, Edgar and Johnny are in a relationship. No, I don't have to justify this relationship. That's boring and too much work. Also, Johnny doesn't want to kill Edgar, because that would ruin the mood. Nevermind that that changes the entirety of their whole relationship and ruins both their characters, BUT THAT'S WHAT THIS FIC IS FOR.

Edgar touches a thin hand to his chest. I was about to write womanly, but he's still a man! For now.

"How long will he be out?" He sighs again in that fashion. You know what I mean. You know. "It has been so long, and why am I not using contractions?"

A valid question, my good manwoman. Edgar touches a necklace he's wearing because darn it, he wasn't gay enough before. It's a huge gold chain that's gaudily covered with fake rubies and diamonds, and has "JCxEV4EVA" in huge gaudy letters at the bottom. It's like a bling, except no one in the world would ever wear it, especially a man. But thankfully for this fic, Edgar has already had his testosterctomy, so he's fine. It weighs a ton, but Edgar doesn't mind. He bears the weight stoically, for that is his lot in life!

~_`-`-!_#_#_~_!_!~_!FLASHBACK~_`-`-!_#_#_~_!_!~_!

ow. oh god ow that hurt to type.

So Edgar and Johnny are standing underneath a cherry blossom tree. Oh wait, sorry. Sakura tree. Nevermind the fact that there being a sakura tree wherever they live is remarkably unlikely, but this is a bad fanfic. So I can do anything.

Johnny now is not anorexically thin either, but I don't feel like describing him now. Maybe later. He hauls up this massive box and with some effort, pulls out that massive gaudy ugly chain thing that's probably contact-uglied some people to death.

"My love, I love you so love much love," Johnny says with a twitch. "I'm also totally not crazy, if you've noticed."

"Yes." Edgar stands there with one hand to his chest as cherry blossoms go fluttering by him in the everconstant breeze. "I love how you are not crazy, and your love."

"I got this for you, my darling Eddybumpkin." heeeeeeeeheheheheee okay. Johnny hands Edgar the huge gold medallion, which weighs his hands down and kills an angel somewhere. "Because I cherish our relationship so very much, because I wuv oo and snuggles. So many. Because I love personal contact and I love being touched by another man, especially you."

"Yes." Edgar puts the medallion thingy on with some difficulty, causing someone's socks to shoot straight into the center of the earth. "I also enjoy being touched by a man. We should do it more often."

"But I love you so much that my heart would burst and blood would come shooting out of all my orifices if I couldn't say love as many times as possible, o love of mine. Remember, Eddyboo, that I would never hurt you, despite the fact that that's the only thing I'm any good at and the only motivation I really have for living at all."

Edgar presses his hand to his chest and begins weeping. Perhaps because of the emotion, or maybe because one of those pesky cherryblossoms landed right in his eye. This is a question I don't have to answer, because I don't care about my readers.

~_`-`-!_#_#_~_!_!~_!END FLASHBACK~_`-`-!_#_#_~_!_!~_!

So here we have our love-struck Edgar sitting and looking at this horrible monstrosity that must have escaped the ugliest part of the seventies sitting on his chest. He is filled with love that makes him feel fuzzy and happy and warm. Fuzzies.

Now, here's the junction. There are two ways this fic can go at this point. Two cliche paths. More then I expected! The question is which one can I pull off with the utmost ridiculousness. Decisions, decisions.

Ah, I think I'll just go for the totally inexplicable path. The "suddenly I am so incredibly horny I have to jack off right in the middle of this room totally naked despite every single instinct that points to the contrary while screaming my love's name" cliche. Think that's overly specific? You'd be surprised! It's either that or "stand and weep as my love comes home inexplicably drunk and abusive and rough sex and angst ensues", but somehow that doesn't seem quite as much fun. And besides, I can probably work that in here anyway! Hahahaha!

So, as previously implied, somehow this horrible gold travesty is making tingles shoot up all over Edgar, like arrows at a renaissance fair.

"I am very sexually aroused," Edgar says in a completely deadpan voice. Apparently characterization is making a final attempt to stay in here. Sorry, Edgar, I don't think so.

You know, I stopped writing this at this point for some time. Why, you may ask? Why, because the idea of Edgar jacking off is something so very strange to me. Then again, Edgar is a guy, although everything in the fic currently points to the contrary. Then again, once more, he's religious (I would say Catholic but I don't know that) and I don't know many religions that look favorably on religion. I mean, masturbation. That wasn't a Freudian slip, I swear.

So at any rate, Edgar moves away from the window he's been staring out of for god knows how long. He then stares at the carpet in the middle of the room.

For a few seconds, the actual character of Edgar struggles, basically by looking aghast at the thought of what I want him to do. But because I'm writing this, I can twist his character as much as I want, as thousands of badfics have proved. So it is all for naught, NAUGHT I SAY.

Edgar reluctantly takes his place in the center of the room. There's a fire in the room, by the way. I don't mean the room is on fire, necessarily, but there's a fireplace with a fire in it. If the room was on fire, I'd imagine Edgar's situation would become slightly more pressing. At any rate, there's also a bearskin rug, the purpose of which I'm sure you can already guess.

So Edgar shucks off his clothes, because that's a word that's not used often enough, especially when removing clothes. See, normally, Edgar would probably have some random moles on his skin. You know, typical stuff. Random scar here and there maybe from some stupid incident as a kid, birthmarks. Body hair. But nope. This is Fey!Edgar, remember? This Edgar has creamy smooth skin, a phrase I see used so often and yet it is never explained. It makes me want to drink him, and I hope that doesn't make me sound like a pervert.

Anyway, Edgar has creamy white skin, he does. Not a single flaw anywhere, except for those two delicate little scars beneath his eyes that I NEVER LET ANYONE FORGET ABOUT that only complement his features. I have no idea how scars can complement someone's features, but hey. I didn't set the standard for these. He also has no hair on his body, because pretty boys don't have hair. The fact that I let Edgar keep his goatee is seriously pushing it.

He also sheds that horrible horrible necklace, which makes a priest half a country away sigh in relief.

So anyway, I know how I can do this. Flowery metaphors!

Edgar began to feel the welling of real and true and deep love, the love that only happens in fairytales if fairytales were gay, the feeling of utter devotion and love for the one he loved so much, and I'm not using the word love too much, shut up. He had to express the love he felt for everyone, but mostly the love he felt for orgasms, to the world!

But of course, this could not be so simple, for the love that Edgar was just expositing about previously is not here! This is a cause of much internal turmoil for Edgar, who has become surprisingly needy lately.

As a delicate flush came over his pale cheeks, Edgar began talking out loud to himself, as everyone does when they masturbate. What?

"I shouldn't be doing this by myself," says Edgar, who is surprisingly coherent for the activity he's currently engaged in. "Ah, if only this were Nny's hand rather then my own! How sweet it would be!"

Of course, the very thought of what he was doing was enough to offend his womanly virtues, and Edgar thought perhaps that he might swoon.

"Oh, I should stop, but it feels so good!" Edgar puts one hand to his forehead. "I simply cannot wait! And I am not using contractions again!"

Interesting running theme! I shall have to investigate later.

Anyway, Edgar begins to feel the oncome of orgasm. Which is like a rising volcano, and the opening of a flower, and the coming of the tides. It is a beautiful and wondrous thing. It was building and building, kind of like how as a kid you had all those legos, and you couldn't stop making things with them even when your parents yelled at you because they got stuck in the carpet and they kept stepping on them. It was just like that. I hope one of your childhood memories has been ruined by the association I just drew.

"Oh Nny!" Edgar mewled, because that's a word I see in a surprising amount of porn for some reason. "Nny!"

And SHOCK OF SHOCKS, who should come in through the front door! Johnny comes stumbling into the house very obviously drunk, although I won't describe how exactly one can tell because that would reveal my authorly ignorance, and no badfic author can do that! Nevermind the fact that Johnny would never get drunk, but that's not important. It's not like characterization is the issue here.

So Johnny's totally drunk and is in fact, carrying a bottle that says XXX on it just to drive that point home. He throws aside his bottle of moonshine and stares at Edgar, who has just been caught doing something sexily embarassing. Well, the latter part of that I'm sure about.

"What are you doing?" Johnny slurs. I'd write in the slur, but I'm lazy.

Edgar tries to cover himself, blushing in a virgin-like manner. "Oh, I am so sorry!" There go the contractions again. "I just couldn't wait for you to come home."

"You couldn't wait!?" Johnny is enraged by this for reasons I can't explain. What, do you guys have sex on a strict schedule? At any rate, he stomps his way over threateningly and grabs Edgar roughly. This is to make sure that you know that Johnny is the seme in this relationship, if my overtly feminine description of Edgar before wasn't enough of an indication.

Which reminds me, I never described Johnny, did I? Well, I can sum it up pretty quickly. Johnny still looks much the same as he did before, except he know has a muscled lean chest, and has a strangely masculine odor like...I dunno, horses and hay or something. I don't know what smells masculine. NO WAIT. Johnny smells like SANDALWOOD. He has thick strong arms and a deep voice. Snerk.

So he has Edgar by the arms and he shakes him, shakes him I tell you! To make sure that you don't think Johnny is evil or something, he decides to deliver some expository dialogue. "Don't you know that I love you, Edgar? I love you so much that you can never achieve any kind of sexual pleasure without me!" No seriously, some people really believe that.

"I know you love me." Edgar promptly bursts into tears, surprising absolutely no one. He weeps beautiful crystalline tears that cling to his lovely lashes like SPIDERS. "But I just couldn't bear to be without you! Let go of me, I want to go weep in my room like a teenage girl at how you're treating me."

"I don't think I will!" Johnny says drunkenly, because I don't want you to forget that important detail! "I think you need to learn a lesson about where you get sexual pleasure and how often and who from!"

Edgar blinks at what I would guess would be the awkward phrasing of Johnny's last sentence. "I don't want to, I want to go have a good cry somewhere."

"I don't care what you waaaaaant!" Johnny kind of sings in a way that I can hear strangely clearly at the moment. He pushes Edgar to the ground. Wow, too bad he's naked. Perhaps this could have been avoided!

"No no!" Edgar says but doesn't actually do anything.

Johnny reaches behind his back and pulls out a very convenient pair of handcuffs for just such an occasion. I guess this happens fairly often? Wait, why am I trying to explain myself. "I'll show you what the sex is really like so hardcore!"

"No no, don't rape me!" Edgar says and yet still doesn't do anything. Johnny, not affected by his stringent pleas, quickly handcuffs Edgar to something convenient nearby. By the way, they're on the bearskin rug now. Because that's where these kind of things should take place.

Edgar sure does a lot of resisting! As much resisting as most virginal maidens tend to do in this kind of situation! Yet, despite himself, Edgar feels himself aroused and is ashamed at his body for being aroused. That's how you feel in these situations without question.

"See?" Johnny points at Edgar's quivering manly manhood which is quivering with desire, by the way, otherwise this would be silly. "You totally want it."

"I do not." Edgar says no, but his body says yes!

I just realized I put Edgar in bondage (semi) again. Oh well.

So at any rate, Johnny does not take off his clothes, because a seme doesn't have to take off his clothes for sex. Ever. He just grabs Edgar roughly and within seconds Edgar's anal innocence is GONE FOREVER! Before he even knew what was happening to him! This is assuming that he had anal innocence to begin with. I don't even know what the timeline for their relationship in this is anymore.

Also, no lube! Because lube is for the weak. There's also no pain, because anatomy and realism aren't important here.

"Nooo." Edgar weeps hysterically. "This is my first time! It's supposed to be beautiful!"

"I'll make it beautiful, baby," Johnny says with his deep baritone voice.

"No no no, stop it! Take your penis out of me this instant!" Edgar says, but he didn't really mean it. Because you see, he was enjoying it, as much as it shamed him inside to admit such a thing.

"But you like it," Johnny says with masculine certainty. He thrusts into Edgar like one would thrust into another jouster if you were at the renaiisance fair I mentioned earlier! On the first try he manages to hit Edgar's special place, which of course is the key to every single male buttsex orgasm in the entire world.

Edgar makes another one of those mewling sounds much like a cat. Sexy. "Oh, stop!"

"Make me stop," Johnny says with that devil-may-care attitude. But Edgar couldn't what with his hands all handcuffed and such, and he was totally helpless. Horrors! If only Johnny weren't drunk! If only he hadn't been caught! If only the car hadn't broken down! If only they were among friends, or sane people!

"You totally want it, look at you." Johnny talks dirty. No, he's not being demeaning. It's kinky. "You just can't wait for me to come home."

"No no!" Edgar says with his feminine lilting voice. But the buttsex he was currently having was the most magical thing ever, and he didn't know how long he could deny that. It was like they were sharing their souls through the rape. I mean, sex. Through the sex. Edgar felt closer to Johnny then ever, and at the very thought of being able to touch Johnny's soul Edgar got hit with an orgasm like an oncoming train. Johnny didn't even particularly notice. You'd think his clothes would be ruined, but this is a badfic, so Edgar's sperm conveniently fell off to the side somewhere. Perhaps it flew in a perfect arc to land in a trash can some distance away so no one has to worry about wet spots or clean up.

"You slut, see! You love being penetrated by my manly pole of love," Johnny says in his rough and kinky way.

Edgar of course is blushing terribly and I should probably describe his nipples at some point. They're flushed too, I suppose. He feels so violated and yet, he's never felt so complete. Oh the angst. "No no, stop!"

"I won't stop!" Johnny says and slaps Edgar across the face for no real reason except to get across the point this is demeaning sex. I mean, kinky sex.

"Oh oh!" Edgar weeps some more. And yet, the sex is still pretty fantastic. "I don't! I'm not enjoying this! I certainly did not just have an orgasm!"

Huh, that actually sounds vaguely in-character. Haha, anomaly.

"You're so enjoying it." Johnny touches that special crazy place inside him that makes waves of pleasure sweep over Edgar, like the janitor cleans up after a tickertape parade.

"Noooo," Edgar cries again, although he feels himself coming near orgasm. Again. Haha, he's a machine. "I can't believe you're raping me!"

Ah, multiple orgasms. Not just the realm of women anymore!

"I'm not raping you!" Johnny says as he rapes Edgar. "I love you, I just want to have sex with you whether or not you've agreed to it in the process."

"How could you do this to me --a little to the left-- when I loved you so much?" Edgar's still weeping. Man it'd be awkward to have sex with someone who was crying, I'd imagine. Johnny obliges with Edgar's quick request and Edgar makes a funny noise. I should really describe it as a mewl or a moan or pant or something, but it wasn't. It was a funny noise that has no nice description, something like "hnnyrarrgghhheerrgh" that you know means something's going right, but you'll never be able to put that in words without making it sound like something's going wrong. Maybe that's why mewl is so popular.

"I still love you," Johnny says, humping away merrily. "I don't know where you got the impression that I don't, Eddybumpkin."

I seriously hope that the nickname Eddybumpkin is never used outside of this fic.

"Because you had sex with me when I said no, even though I wanted it later!" Edgar's trying to be brave, but his heart is breaking. But the sex is still pretty awesome, because they're both total experts at sex by the way. "How could you!"

"But isn't it nice?" Johnny humps a bit the left, a bit to the right, bingo! Another orgasm. Edgar makes an incredibly silly sounding and embarassing moan/scream thing that no man would ever admit to making ever, and in fact would probably kill the mood if one was having sex. It'd be like shouting "I'M GLINDA GOOD WITCH OF THE SOUTH" at orgasm or something just as jarring.

But sex is beautiful, remember? So this strange noise (something like NYYYYARRRRGGHHHH) goes totally unnoticed.

Man, Edgar's had two orgasms already without even getting tired, and Nny's still going! That's how you know he's the seme. Seme's always come last. Unless they both orgasm at the same time magically and in a way that bonds souls.

So Edgar at this point has finally given himself up to his sexy fate and just weeps pitifully. Dang, how can you still be crying after all that. You should be unconscious. Either way, Edgar weeps prettily as Johnny continues having sex with him vigorously and with intent to sperm.

Finally, because Johnny's a sex god of course, he finally does orgasm, and the magical sensation of being filled with semen (the best stuff in the world!) Edgar has yet another orgasm once again. Good thing his semen is flying off somewhere where no one will ever have to worry about cleaning it up or anything.

So Johnny unlocks the handcuffs and Edgar rubs at his wrists and sniffles in a pathetic sounding way. Johnny hugs him and Edgar starts crying again. Yes, weep into the shirt of your boyfriend who just raped had noncon sex with you.

"How could you hurt me like that? I thought you said you'd never hurt me." Edgar glances at that horrible gold thing off to the side, but thankfully does not put it on. I don't think we need any more horrible wrath of god occurrences brought on by that hideous work of jewelry. Also, continuity? Wtf?

"I didn't hurt you, we had sex!" Johnny holds Edgar in his big strong arms and pets Edgar's hair in a way that most men would find condescending but Edgar finds comforting. Also, they're both totally not tired. "Sex is good, and I totally believe that because I love touching people for extended periods of time and body fluids. A lot."

"I know." Edgar's still weeping pathetically. Get a hold of yourself, man. "But I didn't want to! Do you really love me? How could you do that!"

This angsty scene is interrupted by the door to...where are these guys anyway? I'm having trouble envisioning Edgar's little dingy apartment here. They're somewhere else entirely now. A house or something in the suburbs. So anyway, the door opens and Scriabin walks in. The fact that he's an actual person and not a voice in Edgar's head is something that will neither be explored or explained in this fic in any way whatsoever (Scriabin's hot lol).

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Scriabin says completely in character. He looks at the big strong man Johnny holding the naked womanly Edgar and puts his hands on his hips in a sassy way. "What's all this then?"

I remember someone mentioning a long time ago that they thought Edgar had a british accent, and I always liked that idea. So now Scriabin has a random british accent that'll last less then fifteen minutes into the movie. I mean, fic.

"We were just expressing our deep and soulbonding love," Johnny says with a huge tic in one eye. Woah, looks like canon!Nny is trying to make a break for it.

"He raped me!" Edgar wails. I never thought I'd type that sentence.

"I did not, because you totally wanted it and you enjoyed it." Johnny holds up two fingers. Scriabin shakes his head and tsks.

"Oh you two! You need to communicate more! How about Edgar gets cleaned up, then we can all have dinner?"

Okay, I have to ask myself now cause this is just pushing it. What the heck is Scriabin doing in this house. Does he have a job? Is he working? Is he the maid? Can anyone else see him? Is he really a person? What's going on here? I feel like I'm reading some horrible Eva fic, except there's no purple prose.

Scriabin puts on a fluffy pink apron, thus proving that even if I created the character, I can portray him as out of character as anyone else. "I'll make a salad! Salads are healthy."

I don't know why that's a concern for you, Scri, but okay.

Johnny picks Edgar up, because that's a totally uncanonical yet adorable thing to do, and carries him off into the bathroom. I could write a bath scene with more sex but I'm tired. So you fill in the blanks for now.

Scriabin makes a caesar salad and some grilled cheese sandwiches, cause man I could go for one right now. That and Sims 2 has ruined my view of cooking forever. I am still totally baffled as to what Scriabin is doing here. He's just HERE I guess.

Some thirty minutes later our two boys come back. Edgar is wearing a dress, because he's practically a woman now anyway, so why fight it anymore. It's a dress just like those maidens on the dimestore novels wear. If he had a cleavage it'd look mighty impressive, but instead it just looks remarkably wrong. Johnny is also no longer drunk, because being drunk is something you can turn on and off whenever it suits you.

So Scriabin sets the table. I'm trying to picture that. This is like Norman Rockwell gone so so wrong.

Dinner is happening.

Johnny, having finished eating (eating!) looks off to one side. "I have to go do something right away."

Edgar is poking his salad with a chopstick. Apparently Edgar fails at life.

Scriabin however has more of a handle on this salad-eating affair and is using a fork. "Okay, mate, go ahead."

That accent will come and go like the wind.

Johnny gets up and leaves the room. "I'll be back tomorrow." He says from outside, because I forgot to have him say it before he left, and it would be silly to have him walk back inside and do it.

"Bye, honey." Edgar has completely gotten over the rape. Selective memory or really good bathroom sex? Who can tell. You can't eat a salad with chopsticks Edgar jesus christ. "See you tomorrow."

When the front door slams, Scriabin abruptly stands up.

"So, it has come to this!"

Edgar stares up at him in confusion.

"...The thing that it comes to?"

Thank you, MST3K.

Scriabin sweeps everything off the table in a way that no one will have to clean up or worry about.

"I must have you!"

"Wait, WHAT?" Edgar recoils. "Since WHEN?"

"Since I saw you naked, I realized that I have always loved you, and I always will, and I must have you. Johnny isn't good enough for you, because he raped you."

Edgar is staring at Scriabin with one eyebrow raised and one down. You know that look. He then rubs at his chin. "Well, he did rape me, that's true at least."

"Aha, I knew it!" Scriabin grabs Edgar and throws him on the table. Despite the fact that Scriabin and Edgar should be identical (pretty much) Scriabin is now taller, stronger, and much more masculine then Edgar is, which I guess considering isn't that much of an accomplishment.

"What, what is this?" Edgar is panicking slightly. I don't blame him. "You hate me! You snark at me constantly."

"Yes, but it's a cover because I love you tons." Scriabin takes off his trenchcoat.

"Oh god you're going to rape me aren't you."

"I'm not going to rape you!" Scriabin says as he rips Edgar's dress clean off. Cleeeean off. "What a silly notion. We're going to have lots of fun!"

"No, I love Johnny for some reason!" Edgar apparently just now sees this as a serious threat and tries to get away, but Scriabin is too fast and too strong for him. Too bad you tried to crawl away, Edgar, you put yourself in a bad position. "I can't betray him!"

"You don't love Johnny, you love me!" Scriabin's abrupt change in character is also signified by his abrupt lack of clothing. All too soon, Edgar is bent over that table as I imagine has happened quite a few times.

"No, I don't think I do." Edgar runs a hand through his hair. MY GOD WHAT. Why did that random in-character thing suddenly show up here? Another anomaly I guess.

"You've always looooved me, Edgar." Scriabin gets that evil voice that makes Edgar have seizures. "Deep inside you know you always dream of me!"

"That's not true!" Edgar tries to get away again, but Scriabin suddenly impales him upon his fleshy manrod of justice. It's a good thing no one needs lube and there's no anal tearing in this badfic, otherwise I imagine Edgar'd be screaming up a storm.

"Agh! Oh god, get out of me this instant!"

Scriabin's enjoying himself, anyway. "I am you, honey. Remember? I'm in you aaall the tiiiime."

Scriabin apparently gets strangely psychotic during sex. Who knew.

But horrors! Edgar's being raped again! And he's enjoying it! Again! Oh no! Edgar ponders whether or not this means he's a slut and he enjoys being raped. After two seconds of deep introspection, he decides he is and to enjoy the rape as much as possible.

"Harder and other random things!"

"WOO OKAY"

Man, can you imagine walking in on this? Gives a whole new meaning to masturbation, doesn't it?

So Edgar whimpers and moans and makes sex noises (nice ones like "anh" or "unh" or "Ah" and not "errhrhg" or "angngngg" or "nnarrrrr") and is obviously enjoying himself. Which makes it double hot for Scriabin, really.

"I knew it, I knew you loved me!" Scriabin says as he watches Edgar writhe away and such.

"Wait a minute, no I don't." Edgar stops, looks thoughtful. "I don't love you, I just love anal sex."

"Close enough." Oh no! Another touch to the place with the janitor and renaiisance fair! Orgasm on the floor, or one would imagine if the sperm wasn't magically vanishing.

So Edgar's getting pounded right into the table, with Scriabin making rather inappropriate comments behind him.

"Yrarhhagh, more to the left!"

"Hahaha, you're even bad at having sex. You suck." There, that's a bit more in-character for him.

Johnny walks in. "I forgot my coat."

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUNNNN

"It's not what it looks like!" Edgar cries. At the exact same time, Scriabin throws his hands up in the air.

"WOO I AM TOTALLY HAVING AN ORGASM RIGHT NOOOW!"

Johnny stares in total shock. "Oh my god, how could you!"

Edgar shudders as he is again filled with prospective half-a-lives with nothing to fertilize. "He raped me!"

"I did not," Scriabin says, seriously considering whether he should stop raping Edgar in front of Johnny or not, because he's certainly enjoying himself.

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did!"

Johnny begins weeping, but since he's more masculine then Edgar is, he walks over to Scriabin and slaps him. Okay, that's not very masuline at all, but it's more masculine then Edgar currently.

Scriabin also begins weeping, because the world needs more crying men.

"How could you rape my darling Eddyboo, you monster!"

"How could YOU rape him, you maniac!"

Edgar, unable to stop his two boyfriends from fighting over him, just collapses into tears. Also still bent across the table. He should fix that.

Johnny and Scriabin promptly get into a catfight.

"Rapist!"

"Rapist!"

Edgar gets up and brushes himself off. "I feel funny."

**``~~~~---~~``~~~$$$Edgar's POV$$$~~~--~~~----~~**

God that was hard to type. I MEAN

I can't believe they both raped me! I feel so violated and yet, so alive. I also feel some kind of life within me somehow. I don't know how but I do. Did I turn the oven off?

**``~~~~---~~``~~~$$$End Edgar's POV$$$~~~--~~~----~~**

So Edgar's staring at himself and oh yeah, he's naked. He ties the remains of his dress around himself as makeshift clothes and resumes where we left off. He stares at his belly while Scriabin and Johnny roll about on the floor pulling each other's hair.

"I feel strangely whole somehow, although that makes no sense."

"It was my looooove that made you whole." Scriabin manages to get himself out of the catfight to dart to Edgar's side and apparently is still strangely psychotic. Johnny takes this opportunity to deck Scriabin in the face to get him out of the way, then takes his place as the concerned husband.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"I don't know," Edgar says with a blank look. "I think I'm pregnant."

Oh yeah.

I went there.

Johnny smiles a secret smile that he only smiles at Edgar. Of course there's such a thing as a secret smile. "Pregnant?"

You know, if I had a boyfriend tell me that he was pregnant, I don't think my first reaction would be positive. And with me, at least I'm female, so that when sex was being had, at least an egg was SOMEWHERE IN THE PROCESS. With two guys WHERE IS THE EGG? THIS DRIVES ME CRAZY ABOUT MPREG. YOU NEED AN EGG. There is either no mpreg or darn it ONE OF THEM HAS TO HAVE A PERIOD cause frigging a. Frigging. A.

"Yes, I'm certain of it." Edgar puts his hands on his stomach. "Despite the fact that women usually need pregnancy tests, I can tell immediately that there is a clump of cells growing somewhere in my body that presumably will grow to become a child."

"Where exactly?" Johnny asks with some curiousity. That's almost in character. What is with these random glimpses? It's like this is some kind of horrible Twilight Zone episode.

Edgar stares off into the distance for a while. "I don't know."

Scriabin meanwhile has gotten back up and is rubbing at his nose. A running theme here is that nobody's actions have any consequences, so Scriabin's nose is not broken, nor does he have a black eye. In fact, his glasses aren't even broken. He's perfectly fine.

"So you're going to have a baby?"

"Apparently." Edgar speaks with no emotion. I think this is a bit much even for this version of Edgar, and he's attempting to withdraw. Another weird glimpse!

"So how will you..." Johnny gestures vaguely in a way that more resembles pedaling a bicycle then anything else.

Edgar is looking increasingly catatonic. "I don't know."

Scriabin brushes himself off and says in an off-hand manner, "Whose baby is it?"

Both turn to stare at him.

"What?"

Scriabin shrugs. "Well, I mean, we both had sex with Edgar-"

"You raped him!" Johnny points viciously. Somehow. Scriabin again shrugs and continues with more force.

"We both had sex with Edgar, so one of us got him pregnant."

I cannot believe this conversation is even occurring.

Both of them stare at Edgar, who is probably going to pass out soon.

"I think I need to lie down," Edgar says in that "I'm a housewife who is about to go insane" voice that I'm sure you've heard somewhere. Cartoons are a good place to start.

Johnny picks Edgar up for absolutely no reason. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you! This baby will grow up and be beautiful and loved, despite any previous personal faults we had that may have prevented such a thing!"

Scriabin will not stand for this, so he snatches Edgar out of Johnny's arms. "No, I'LL carry him! It's my baby!"

"How do YOU know that? And wouldn't that be incest?"

Everyone stops to contemplate this, including me.

"Well, it'd be more cloning then anything else, I guess. C'mon Edgar, I'll make you feel nice."

Edgar has completely zoned out of this conversation and is in his happy place, which hopefully does not involve two gay men fighting over who is the father of his baby.

"No, Edgar is coming with ME! I can offer him emotional support, because I am a veritable standing rock of emotional and mental stability." Johnny grabs Edgar back.

You know, that'd be rather difficult to pull off. Grabbing someone else out of someone else's arms. But it's not like reality is a problem here, cause I mean. Mpreg.

Mpreg.

Jesus.

Another catfight would probably ensue if Edgar was not in the center of all this, making that a little difficult. He's still completely not here. Wise man.

"He's coming with me!"

"He's coming with ME!"

Johnny at this point gains the physical advantage, somehow, and manages to win Edgar away. He darts away upstairs and locks himself in Edgar's room. Scriabin pursues, but thwarted by the locked door, goes to plot evil somewhere. He's not crying. Honest.

Heh, stymied by the common doorknob.

So Edgar's room is entirely done in pink. There's a gigantic dresser against the wall, pink paint on the walls, a pink ceiling with sticky glow-in-the-dark stars on it, a pink bedspread, and stuffed animals everywhere. Edgar now has a completely unexplainable fondness for stuffed animals now, because that's normal for a man. He especially loves unicorns because they remind him of Johnny. Some part of me died writing that.

Because time is always in a constant fluxing state when someone is pregnant (check any badfic, or in fact, check any random movie or tv show, I guarantee people become pregnant and have babies like the wind), the time spent having the fight over who got to treat Edgar like a child has given him enough time to develop a real belly. My god. I'm actually worried this baby may be an alien for growing this fast, but I need to stop applying logic in here. Johnny can handle this extra weight because, as seme, he now has muscles out the wazoo.

So Johnny lays Edgar down on the bedsheets with the gentleness of newly fallen snow, which is to say it gets in your eyes and makes you wet and miserable. Edgar apparently has woken up out of his trancelike state, much, I'd imagine, to his dismay.

"I'm not really pregnant, am I?" Edgar grabs Johnny's hand and his voice is desperate. Stop making me feel sorry for you. "I'm a man, I can't get pregnant."

"Well, frankly, I'm as shocked as you." Johnny puts a hand on his chest, then waves it in the air overdramatically to help emphasis his words. "Men can't normally get pregnant, but I think it's best if we got over that and decided that this was entirely normal."

"But where is it growing?!" Edgar is panicking. "My god, I don't have a womb! I don't have ovaries! I don't have anywhere for this thing to grow! Oh my god, is it growing on my internal organs?! Is this like some kind of horrible cancer!? What if it rolls over and crushes my organs and gives me gangrene?!"

Not that I would know anything about that. Cough.

Johnny slaps Edgar, because nothing calms down a hysterical person like hitting them across the face.

"You know what will help you sort through these tough questions?" Johnny says with a deceptively calm voice.

Edgar stares at him as if he can somehow talk away the thing that's growing inside him at the moment.

"Sex with a man."

"Should I really have sex when I'm pregnant?" Edgar says the last part of that sentence while choking. "I'm...somehow...really far along already. HOW IS THIS HAPPENING-"

Edgar is about to go into another panic attack when Johnny leaps on top of him.

"Wait wait!" Edgar again protests in a completely useless fashion, and I have completly forgotten if he was wearing clothes or not. At this rate, I bet Edgar's spent a good half of this naked. So I'm going to err on the side of caution and say that he's naked. I suppose that's one less description of his clothes being ripped off, yet again! No wonder he needs such a gigantic dresser. "I don't think this is good for the baby-"

"Which is totally mine." Johnny abruptly closes his hands around Edgar's neck and gets an insanely murderous look in his eye. This pansy version of Edgar is completely unprepared for the sudden abrupt return of canon!Nny, and therefore just makes a frightened whimpering sound indicating that he would like to breathe please, if that was okay with you.

Canon!Nny puts up another mighty fight but vanishes. Johnny gently strokes Edgar's neck and starts weeping again. There we go. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me! You just make me so mad sometimes, baby. I can't help myself, you know I get mad sometimes. You know I love you."

I just realized how messed up this is. Another sip of Coke will get rid of that!

Edgar is still rather freaked out by the sudden attempt on his life and also probably the fetus gestating somewhere in his belly. Somewhere.

"It must be yours," Edgar says because saying anything else at this point would be very stupid. "I mean, you raped me first. Obviously, you...must have reached the...egg...first."

DARN IT PEOPLE EGGS. YOU NEED EGGS TO MAKE BABIES. YOU CANNOT IGNORE THIS FACT ::gets under control::

"Yes of course," Johnny says. "That makes perfect sense."

Well, considering what else is going on around here, I guess so.

So Johnny proceeds to get his freak on with Edgar. Edgar, again, attempts to stop him, if you can call the occasional "oh stop you beast" with giggling an attempt. I wonder if this is some kind of covert effort on Edgar's part to kill the fetus somehow. I wouldn't blame him.

I'm sorry, I'm picturing Edgar giggling. I need a minute to compose myself.

Looking back on this, did this start in present tense? I wonder why so many of my silly things end up being in present tense. Eh.

So in the process of having crazy sex, regardless of the fact Edgar is pregnant, a magical bond develops between them. It of course, occurs when the two of them orgasm at precisely the same time, because that's a true sign that you're in love and not unlikely at all. What is this magical bond you ask?

Why, it's telepathy. Everyone who's REALLY in love develops telepathy with their loved one, despite how horrifically inconvenient that would be. The telepathy makes the entire sexual experience that much better, by the way.

Scriabin is downstairs currently having a lightswitch rave. Apparently his attention span is, in fact, that short. Without Edgar to go bother/mock/rape, he has nothing to do. So he flicks the lightswitch on and off and dances around in a way that would make most people look goofy, but he pulls it off. Somehow.

"You think you're a man, but you're only a boy." Scriabin sings along with the gayest song I have. Because that's what this fic has become. "You think you're a man, you are only a toy. You think you're a man, but you just couldn't see, you weren't man enough to satisfy me!"

Scriabin takes this opportunity to break a lamp.

Scriabin! You have more important things to worry about! Well, actually, I prefer this to him weeping hysterically, because I cannot picture him crying. At all.

Some horrible crashing sound from upstairs serves to remind Scriabin of the important issue facing him.

"That is totally my baby." Scriabin twirls a glowstick around. Where on earth did you get that? "It's mine because if my sperm and Nny's sperm ever got into a fight, mine would kick his sperm's $^#. 'Cause I'm that awesome."

Apparently, Scriabin is not the kind to angst about this. Good, that takes one person out of this angsty equation.

So Scriabin is having his one man party and having lots of fun, and darn it someone has to clean up that broken lamp. Before he knows it, because that makes perfect sense in the oncoming context, the lights are shut off magically. I mean, mysteriously.

Scriabin still has his glowstick, and is also wearing lots of little glowy bracelets because that mental image is making me laugh a lot for some reason right now. WOOHOO FOUR AM.

So Scriabin's kind of glowing in the dark and twirling about his glowstick with a strangely inappropriate amount of skill, considering that to my knowledge Scriabin has never been to any raves, and the room fills with dry ice. I mean, mysterious mist. Lots of mist. Scriabin stands there still twirling his glowstick and looking unimpressed. Good for you, Scriabin.

The glass door to the place opens because of course they have a glass door now. Shut up. In flies a squeaky bat, which transforms into a person in a puff of surprisingly gay looking pink smoke with sparklies.

Scriabin apparently can't think of anything to say to this, so he just stares at this intruder with an amused smirk, spinning that glowstick like there's no tomorrow. Our intruder, by the way, has pale skin and red eyes and is dressed like a reject from the 1500s, as in "I found this corset in Hot Topic and it looks so cool with this spiderweb dress I must have this I LOOK SO OLDSCHOOL." That is, assuming that our chappy is a woman, which he isn't. Instead he's dressed in a flamingly gay outfit with a cravat and everything and a waistcoat. It's homosexual to the extent that Scriabin seriously can't stop laughing.

"Welcome," says the vampire, who apparently doesn't understand how etiquette works.

Of course he's a vampire. There are ALWAYS vampires in badfics.

"Uh huh." Both eyes half-closed, severely unimpressed. Still got those glowy things on him though, which someone doesn't make Scriabin look unsilly, so to speak. I have no idea what I was trying to say with that sentence. Let's just pretend it never happened.

"I've come to suck your blvud." The vampire extends creepy hands with fingernails that resemble those Bugle cornchips, and Scriabin about falls over in hysterics.

"Blvud, oh my god-"

"Blvud!" says the vampire, annoyed that his appearance is apparently enough to jolt Scriabin abruptly back into character. He advances on Scriabin quickly, who is still twirling his glowstick merrily. Then, the vampire stares at Scriabin. Stares at him, I say! Lucky for him, Scriabin has his reflective sunglasses on. Little purple mind control rays bounce off of Scriabin's glasses with all the convincing reality of the lasers in Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"You suck." Twirl twirl twirl.

Well, technically yeah, Scri. BADUM CHING.

The vampire makes an annoyed sound that should sound sexy but instead comes off as similar to the sound that a donkey would make if you filtered it through a plastic cup. Before Scriabin can offer any more commentary on how lame this vampire is (controversial statement: all vampires are lame), the vampire grabs him by the shoulders. Because vampires are strangely and unexplainably sexy seducing types, Scriabin totally doesn't fight this at all and lies all limp and aswoon in the vampires thin reedy arms. I mean, strong, masculine pale white milk arms. I guess it was a touch based pheromone or something. I don't understand vampires, people. I work with what I've got.

Did I mention the vampire is pale?

"I will give you eternal night," the vampire says, and bites Scriabin's neck. The minute his fangs pierce Scriabin's skin, blood absolutely begins fountaining everywhere. Even in his raccoon wounds. It's like the Old Faithful of blood right out of Scriabin's neck. Scriabin is not alarmed by this, although I imagine the vampire is.

"ACKPTH!"

I'd have Scriabin offer some kind of silly explanation, but really. I like the visual better just without any kind of justification whatsoever. IT JUST HAPPENS. Hee.

So the vampire is covered in blood (as is the majority of the room at this point) and Scriabin feels the blood loss and falls down. He drops his glowstick in a shot that is in slow motion to emphasize the fact that YES.

HE WAS TWIRLING A GLOWSTICK.

BUT HE'S NOT ANYMORE.

Scriabin's on the floor a bit dazed, perhaps now wondering why it was that his blood was apparently under enough pressure that really he should have exploded at some point. The vampire tries to bite his own wrist to open the vein there or something, cause that's what vampires do so I'm told, but he's covered in blood as it is. The LUST comes over him and he ends up chewing his own hand off. Tee hee.

Scriabin coughs to remind the vampire that hey, he's kind of passing out here. Vampire stops eating his own hand long enough to realize that he should probably do something about that. Scriabin is certainly sexy enough to be a vampire, one can imagine. So he holds his stump over Scriabin's head and proceeds to drip blood all over him, which Scriabin does not appreciate.

"Drink, drink if you want to live forever," says the vampire, because that line is required by federal law to be in all vampire fics ever. Scriabin is too busy sputtering and trying to protect his face from the random gore being spattered on him.

"Gross!"

"Drink, you ho."

"Hey!" No one calls Scriabin a ho, unless maybe it's Edgar when Scriabin's acting like a ho! Scriabin opens his mouth to ready a hugely long-winded and mostly unnecessary deconstruction of why the vampire is wrong and stupid and that his mother dresses him funny when blood falls in his mouth. Technically, I'm pretty sure Scriabin should be pretty dead before he drinks and comes back to life, BUT I'M SURE YOU'LL GET OVER IT.

Scriabin drinks the nasty blood eew, and his skin abruptly turns all white. Because of those lovely glasses, we can only assume that his eyes have turned red. If he HAS EYES TO BEGIN WITH.

"My work is done! I must return to the seclusion of the night!" The vampire extends his arms to dramatically turn into a bat, but slips on the blood that is everywhere and falls flat on his face. Scriabin giggles at this, because who wouldn't, really. The vampire, pride and nose wounded, turns into a squeaky bat and flies out the window. Don't forget your bucket of dry ice, vamp man!

So Scriabin sits there in the midst of a room that looks much like Johnny Depp's in the first Nightmare on Elm Street movie after all that blood geysered out of the bed for ABSOLUTELY NO REASON. Blood is all over the place. Scriabin stares at his hands, looks at his coat.

"Ah, this sucks! My coat's got vampire all over it!"

So now that Scriabin is a vampire, for absolutely no reason, he stands up and brushes himself off, then goes to wash his face. He makes no plans whatsoever to clean up the living room that looks as though the devil himself vengefully menstruated all over it.

MEANWHILE

Edgar and Johnny are still up in Edgar's girly girly room, thinking girly girly things. The telepathic sex was great. I am hugely amused by the fact that Edgar and Nny are telepathic in this rather than Scriabin and Edgar. HAW HAW. Edgar is sitting in a rocking chair that has conveniently appeared near the window. He is knitting.

Yes, Edgar is knitting.

Try picturing that WITHOUT all of Edgar's neurotic yarn stuff, even! Bwahahahaha!

Johnny is smoking a pipe and wearing a smoking jacket, and staring at himself in the mirror. He is also wearing a fez, because I want a fez. Note to self - hit EBay later tonight.

"Isn't this wonderful, darling?"

Edgar continues to knit, although he's shaking convulsively while he's doing it. It's red yarn too. I think this constitutes as legal torture in some states. Or at least, it WOULD IF HE WAS REAL. BWAHAHAHAHA.

He is knitting a glove that I assume was intended to be some kind of baby clothes, and Edgar just couldn't focus. Or couldn't knit. Fighting back tears, Edgar stares off into the distance while his hands go automatic, and he shakes real hard. I'm surprised he hasn't stabbed himself with those knitting needles yet.

"Yes. This is lovely." Completely deadpan. Haha, it amuses me that the yarn is what's really freaking Edgar out in this. NOT THE BABY OR ANYTHING.

Johnny smirks into the mirror, puffs on his pipe and smiles the smile that tells you, this man has a large penis. "Our lives will be complete once Johnny Junior comes along."

Snerk.

"Johnny Junior?" Edgar stops knitting and pretty much collapses as much as a person can while sitting down, relieved to get that awful yarn away from him. "I thought it was going to be Edgar the third."

Not cause Edgar's dad was called Edgar, cause he wasn't. Just for no reason.

"Well, that won't do, darling." Johnny turns back to Edgar with a frown that insinuates that this man would kill his family for the insurance money. Meanwhile, thumping is going on downstairs, but no one cares. "It has to be Johnny Junior, he has to carry on the family name."

Of what, killing people? Johnny and Son, Murders Extraordinare? Call us for your next bar mitzvah?

"But I was so hoping to name the baby after my dear old me!" Edgar dabs at his eyes with a lace handkerchief. His belly is huge though. God, that'd be creepy to see a belly like that without breasts to set it off. The male body just looks weird pregnant. MPREG IS ALL MESSED UP. I'LL MAKE SWEEPING GENERALIZATIONS IF I WANT TO.

Scriabin busts down the door with his foot of justice.

"What about me? Name it after me!" he says, and he totally bites his lip with his new fangs. "Oh #$^#!"

Scriabin busies himself trying to stop the bleeding, while Johnny and Edgar don't look over at him. As Edgar sighs beautifully and stares out the window, Scriabin rolls all over Edgar's pink bed, covering it with blood, because he's Scriabin, and he would do something like that.

"I was so hoping for a little Edgar of my own..." Edgar stares off into the sunset. What, is Scriabin not enough of a little clone for you? Woah, there's a creepy thought. MOVING ON.

"I was hoping for a little Johnny to follow in my footsteps, because God knows I love my life and how I've lived it, and would gladly want someone I love to endure the same." Johnny puts his hands on Edgar's shoulders. Scriabin takes this opportunity to bleed all over the immediate vicinity. Man, you suck at being a vampire. I thought those things were supposed to retain blood.

"But what if this is the only child we have?" Edgar puts his hand over Johnny's on his shoulder, so this is like a Norman Rockwell portrait...in Hell. "I don't know how fertile I am." I kind of want to punch myself for writing that sentence.

"What, do you think there'll be complications?" Johnny looks aghast and his pipe falls from his amazed mouth to fall on the floor, where it promptly explodes. "You don't suppose you'll have a miscarriage and die in childbirth and then the dead fetus will leap into my throat and kill me as well? I don't think that's very likely, Eddybumpkin."

"No, I suppose you're right." And yet, secretly, SECRETLY Edgar hopes for a miscarriage because MEN DON'T HAVE BABIES. GOD. YOU PEOPLE. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU.

"Hahaha, Eddybumpkin." Scriabin takes a break from writing "Scriabin ROX" on the wall in blood. "I hope no one ever calls you that outside this fic."

Don't steal my lines, you miscreant.

"You WANT a miscarriage?!" Johnny recoils from Edgar in horror.

"What?"

"I heard your brain! You want the baby to die! The baby you carry under your heart, the size of the pollen of a flower! Why did you kill me, mommy?" Johnny is now channeling frightening pro-life songs. Okay. I got this under control. Hold on.

"I didn't mean it!" Edgar tries to placate Johnny. "It's just...I'm a man! Men don't get pregnant!"

"But you are pregnant! And you're not much of a man to be honest."

"I hear that!" Scriabin says from the background, holding up a martini glass in agreement. Wait a minute, where did you get that? That better not be a blood martini or something.

"Well, I suppose not, but still! I'm not entirely comfortable with having a baby because...because..." Edgar shudders. "I can't even imagine how I'm going to birth this thing."

"It's totally mine, by the way."

Finally, Johnny and Edgar notice the red-streaked margarita drinking vampire reject sitting on the blood soaked bed.

"When did you get here?"

"With illuuuuusions." Scriabin wiggles his fingers. That wasn't even the question.

"Are you a vampire?"

"What makes you say that?"

Johnny puts a finger to his mouth, his fez just at the right angle to give him that stalwart, thoughtful look reserved for men of the 1950's sitcom and those who enjoy shooting animals way too much. "You have an awful lot of blood. Vampires collect blood or something, don't they?"

"Oh yes!" Edgar smiles brightly for...is that the first time in this fic? My god. "That's right, vampires like blood! I guess maybe they find the texture pleasing."

"You guys are so dumb. TUH." Scriabin makes a :B face at them in mockery. I don't know how to better describe that expression than with an emoticon. BUT CONSIDERING WHAT'S HAPPENED IN THIS FIC SO FAR, I HARDLY THINK AN EMOTICON WOULD BE MY BIGGEST TRANSGRESSION.

"But why?" Edgar asks just like that lady from The Deadly Bees.

"Hargrove!" Johnny chimes in, to achieve the full effect of the reference.

"Vampires drink blood. Or something. Or shoot heroin. One of those." Scriabin is playing with one of those cup ball things. That's not a euphemism for gay sex you perverts. He's just balling cups or cupping balls. EVERYONE IS DRINKING BLOOD OR CUPPING BALLS EXCEPT YOUR BROTHER woah flashback

"Is it good heroin?"

"Oh yes, some of the best! They import it, you know. From the finest" okay I need to stop right here and get this back on track, I am losing sight of what little coherency I had and I need to try and keep SOME of this in line.

"So. Vampire huh." Ha. That's SO Johnny.

"Yup."

"Why did you bleed all over my bed?!" Edgar suddenly shrieks like some horrible harridan because whee I got to use that word. "Oh god, all my sheets! My precious silk sheets! Oh god whyyyy"

Of course Edgar had silk sheets. Everyone has silk sheets. What's that you say? They are slippery and uncomfortable to sleep in and feel strange and are difficult to clean and care for? That's ridiculous. Haven't you ever read a fanfic before? Everything is made of silk. EVERYTHING. Note to self - there has to be silk lingerie bandied about at some point.

"Your bed sucked." Scriabin lounges on it while Edgar tries to get his soiled sheets away from the continually bleeding Scriabin. You are the worst vampire ever, Scriabin. You should be dead and yet, you live to spite Edgar. You truly do subsist on the misery and bad fortune of your host. "And you suck. Your FACE sucks. BURN."

"Your cruel words cut me to the core!" Edgar falls and weeps in a ball on the floor, which is his typical reaction whenever Scriabin turns and says a mean word to him.

"But you suck now, don't you?" Johnny points at Scriabin, a new pipe slowly emerging from his mouth like some kind of horrible pipesnake. "Suck heroin?"

"YOU suck heroin. BURN." Thank you Scri for resorting to the laziest of all retorts. Maybe the margaritas have caught up with him. Scriabin rolls off the bed on top of Edgar and just so happens to land in a position where he's having sex with him. If you're not sure how that happens consult the Bible, there's a story about that kind of thing in there. Would I lie to you?

"AFH!ajsi"

"Hi."

"GET OFF ME. AND OUT OF ME. PREFERABLY BOTH AT THE SAME TIME."

"Hey, is there raping and roughhousing about?" Johnny smokes his new biologically created pipe as if there's nothing odd about its existence. I wonder what it is that Johnny's smoking that would explode so violently when dropped. Maybe nitroglycerine gives you an awesome buzz. I could see that. You probably couldn't be manhandled after that though. Indigestion.

"Maybe."

"AGH."

"You cut that out." Johnny walks over and kicks the two of them apart with his foot like they were two rutting dogs. Scriabin hisses and backs away, baring his fangs and his....glasses getting all glowy and evil, cause vampires are required to do this. He then scurries up the wall in a way that's supposed to be scary but just looks silly and vanishes into a crack in the wall. Just like the dustballs in My Neighbor Totoro! Wow, no way to undercut the menace of your supernatural creature than to compare it to something from My Neighbor Totoro.

Edgar weeps. I could rename this fic "Edgar, Weeping" and that would about pretty much cover the whole thing.

"Aww, Eddybumpkin, don't let him get to you." It is so hard for me to even type that nickname. I swear to god. "Animals like that, they don't understand people like us."

Man, you've got a big nose. Johnny thinks confidentially to himself.

Edgar, of course, hears this and sobs hysterically. YOU SEE? TELEPATHY IS HORRIBLE. WHAT ON EARTH MAKES ANY OF YOU THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA?!

"I didn't mean that!" Johnny kneels down and touches Edgar's shoulder. Where his fingers glance, small pipes begin to grow. Johnny you need to go to the hospital right now. "You know I love you, gigantic elbow mountain of a nose and all."

"What if our manbaby has a big nose like meOH MY GOD WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY SHOULDER"

Edgar screams in horror and begins batting at the pipe growths on his shoulder. Can I be honest with you guys? Right now that image is seriously creeping me out. I mean, can you imagine that? Growing pipes out of your skin? That's messed up. I should call up Akira Yamaoka.

Scriabin pops up in a puff of black smoke, because his essential non-stupidness cancels out the lameness of the normal vampire entrance (pink sparkles).

"Sorry about that. Did I miss anything?"

Before this can turn decidedly Akira-esque and have Johnny turn into a completely terrifying gigantic growing amoeba-fetus-pipe crossbreed (What do you think of babies now, Johnny! Ha ha!) I decide that this is still creeping me out and I need to put a stop to it right now.

"I'm not entirely sure, but this is far too silly. Now, stand up honeybunchbumpkiroonie." Johnny lifts Edgar up to his feet, and the pipes finish growing and fall off his shoulder to the floor, bursting in flares of strangely colored and strange smelling smoke. Pipes of the devil. "It's time we got serious about this kind of thing. Pipe silliness is not to be had when we have Johnny Junior on the way-"

"Edgar the third."

"Scriabin! Scriabin! Scriabushka! Wait I didn't say that."

"SHUT UP. I'm talking." Johnny puffs on his pipe. A tiny elephant floats from the bowl up to the ceiling, where it bursts. "Now, we need to get this silliness on track, because this is getting ridiculous."

"YOU'RE ridiculous. BURN."

"Now, Edgar is pregnant with my baby." Edgar blanches at this, still unable to accept the cancerous tumor in his stomach. BECAUSE THAT'S WHERE IT WOULD GROW IN A GUY, YOU SICK MPREG FREAKS. "You're a vampire. The logical conclusion is that we need to get married."

"But we don't even know each other, babycakes." Scriabin makes kissy faces at Johnny in an annoying way, and Johnny, fulfilling the private dream of many, punches Scriabin in his smug face for his obnoxious comment. Scriabin falls back, holding his bleeding nose and combining swearwords in new and interesting ways, and Johnny continues like nothing ever happened. Edgar, meanwhile, hangs on his arm staring up at him adoringly, like the cover of a dimestore novel about barbarians and wild women and sorcerors and the Eye of Argon.

"Edgar and I are to be wed!" Johnny holds out his hand and confetti shoots out of it. "Tomorrow on midsummers eve!" Wait, wasn't it just raining? I have to be honest with you guys, I have no idea when midsummers eve is because I don't feel like thinking about it right now. I bet it's buried somewhere under all the nonsense but heck if I'm looking for it now.

"So soon? But we don't really know anything about each other! I haven't written any invitations!" Edgar puts a pretty hand to his pretty mouth and looks prettily concerned. "I have so many people I'd want to invite after all."

"Never you mind! It shall be a fantabulous wedding for the ages! Something magical and wonderous! And once we get married, we'll never fight again ever! All our troubles will be over! And our baby will grow up old and wise and loved and not neurotic or damaged at all!"

"Oh boy!" Edgar says, clapping his hands. "Marriages never go bad, and people never get divorced! This can't possibly go wrong!"

"Well if you guys hold a wedding then I'm going to crash it!" Scriabin's back up and holding his nose again. "Because I hate you both. Except you Edgar, I love you. No wait, I just want to do you. Because I hate you. Because I love you, and I hate you for making me love you or love hating you and-"

"Uh huh. I was going to invite you anyway." Edgar says distractedly, enraptured by staring up at his MAN. "Oh Nny, it will be beautiful! What a white wedding it will be!"

Yeaaaaah.

"And we won't have to make preparations or spend a lot of money, because I just said it will happen and therefore, it will! By the power of Greyskull!" Or badfics but you know. It's okay if you get those confused.

"You were going to invite me?" Scriabin looks slightly astonished, and then gets right in Edgar's personal space and sticks his hands in Edgar's pockets. "I see."

"Shoo." Edgar tries to shoo Scriabin away but Scriabin refuses to leave, like a cockroach. If Scriabin was an otherkin he'd be a cockroach. THINK ABOUT IT.

"Nevar."

"Speak properly, you heathen." Edgar smacks Scriabin's naughty hands, and Scriabin in response bites his shoulder. A screaming scuffle ensues with blood flying everywhere. Apparently Scriabin isn't the only one who's under a lot of pressure lately! Badumching.

"So, we're going to have a wedding." Johnny strokes his chin while his boyfriend and a personification of said boyfriend's mental dysfunction roll around on the floor biting each other. "Hmm. What kind of thing is this wedding? How is it played? What kind of equipment do we need to have a wedding, and I wonder who's ahead in the wedding championships?"

Edgar shrieks like a woman as Scriabin bites his hand. Frankly, I don't blame him because I bet that would hurt.

"Edgar honeybunch, what kind of wedding do you want?"

"What?" Edgar looks up from pulling Scriabin's hair. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're the fat pig who got knocked up, so you should probably decide what to do." Johnny says because he's the seme and they can say insensitive, cruel things without repercussion. They are exempt from the rules of polite sensible conversation between two human beings.

Edgar gets all wibbly and again dabs at his eyes with a lace handkerchief. Where did he get that? "You're the one who made me this way! It's not my fault! You raped me!"

"Well, technically, I might have done that to you." Scriabin says from where he's pinned beneath him. "Since that baby is totally mine."

"No it isn't." Johnny steps on Scriabin's head. "And what kind of band do you want?"

"I don't want any band that can't accept how I look with my baby!" Edgar wails, then runs into the bathroom and locks the door, crying hysterically the entire way.

"Women," Johnny says contemptuously, because misogyny is so awesome.

"Get off my head."

~~~~@#^&@!@#^@^$ !@# @!! ~ ~ ~~ ~@$!@~ LINE i mean SCENE BREAK1!!!!!!!!!!! lolololololol

jagh those still hurt to do

Edgar sits in the bathroom, staring at the ceiling and still crying prettily. It is currently winter in his heart.

"Why doesn't Nny understand me?" he asks the plasticene ceiling tile. "I thought we loved each other, but he always treats me so rough and unrefined, like some dirty manhandling pirate." Edgar weeps anew into his lace handkerchief. "Oh why can't I have a lover who understands me for who I am, big nose and all?" Speaking of which, man I would not want to be near Edgar when he's sick. Gross.

Edgar looks at his disturbing, distended belly that either means there's a baby that eerily combines both parent's traits in equal measure in his future, or a painful surgery and lots of chemo. Edgar isn't sure which one he's hoping for at this point.

"How can I bring up my baby in a world where my lover can't even keep his promises?" Edgar thinks again of that hideous gold necklace, which quivers in its box, waiting again to rise up and destroy the souls of men. Also what is with this continuity. "I can't let my child grow up in a broken home. And Scriabin wouldn't be a good babysitter, what with his blood collecting. He'd probably make blood macaroni and I don't think that's appropriate for children."

Bloodaroni.

"Edgar?" Johnny knocks on the door, and Edgar begins weeping anew.

"Go away, you brute! You don't understand my delicate feelings!" Edgar and that lace handkerchief so far have the healthiest relationship in this fic, you know that? And I can say that based on the fact that that handkerchief hasn't yet tried to rape him. "I can't raise my baby in such an environment!"

"Aww c'mon baby, you gettin all crazy," Johnny says as he works on picking the lock on the door. "Why you gotta be like that? You know I love ya."

"I love you more!" Scriabin shouts from somewhere else. "Wait, no I don't! I didn't say that!"

Edgar stands and stares at himself meaningfully in the mirror. Normally there'd be an overwrought description of the damage his recent trials have wreaked on his delicate beautiful features but I don't feel like it. Let's just say that crying makes people look ugly because it's true, and if you don't think that's true you haven't watched anyone really cry, you liar.

"What am I to do?" Edgar asks his reflection, his eyes all red and puffy.

"Hi," Scriabin says in response.

"AGH!" Edgar backs back into the door as Scriabin eases his way out of the mirror.

"You know, there are some fun parts to being a vampire." Scriabin looks very pleased with himself, like he just ate someone's pet bird because he's some kind of bird-eating sociopath. "Mirrors are like convenient little gateways. They even have a helpful title writen on them. Deus ex machina! Catchy."

"What do you want? Do you want to rape me again? Because that's getting really old to be honest." Edgar looks at the door and wonders who he should run to for comfort.

"Actually, that's a good question." Scriabin looks thoughtful. "I'm not even sure why I came in here. I just felt compelled. Actually, I think I'm going to take a shower." Scriabin immediately begins stripping. "I'm tired of all this blood."

"I'm right here! You can't take a shower while I'm in here!"

"Why not? I am you, remember?" Scriabin wiggles his fingers at Edgar. "We're the saaaaame-"

"No we're not. For one thing, YOU'RE NOT PREGNANT."

"You say that like you don't want to be carrying my baby," Scriabin says with a pout that supposedly looks sexy. You know, I don't see how that works. Pouting just make me want to sock said pouter in the face. "And it is totally my baby."

"...I'm still not sure if that's incest or cloning."

"Who cares." Scriabin speaks for all of us! He begins running the shower, his white white milk-white alabaster skin shining in the dim light of the bathroom. Scriabin is still a vampire by the way. He is very pale, in case I didn't mention that. "I am going to get in this shower and get clean. Clean from head to toe."

Edgar is staring at Scriabin, but he doesn't realize it! Because unlike normal where if you stare at something without noticing you're actually not looking at it, but somewhere past it, Edgar has actually been studying Scriabin carefully. Yet, also without noticing it. How is that possible? Look, I don't make up the cliches, I just mock them.

Anyway, Edgar has been staring at the newly vamped Scriabin, who is standing there naked waiting for the water to warm up. Edgar notices all those stupid details that people think make a fic artistic, namely all those random pieces of anatomy that supposedly no one ever pays attention to. Big winners in this category - the way their jawline meets their neck, eyelashes, the line of their hips and chest, the way their wrists bend when they flick their hair from their eyes, the way their calf meets their ankle (??), the shape of their nose. However, since Scriabin still has the Vargas nose (there is no known cure) it seems odd to mention the shape and size of his nose in a seemingly poetic fashion. Edgar's giant honker does not lend itself to poetic description, but perhaps I'm too realistic. OH YEAH, HIS NOSE IS AQUILINE.

Scriabin, nose aside, is just standing there tapping his foot and spinning around a glowstick waiting for the shower. Apparently Scriabin can now manifest glowsticks out of nowhere. Now there's a vampire power that might actually be kind of neat. His pale pale skin shines like cream and is creamy smooth and so white, like marble. So very white. Everyone is pale in badfic (heck, goodfic too). Go ahead, check. Scriabin at least kind of has an excuse here.

Like Edgar, Scriabin has no body hair, just a matching goatee and a big tangled mess of hair, which instead of looking like a big tangled mess it looks beautiful and dissheveled in a becoming way. Also since Scriabin is a seme, he's masculine and leanly muscled. Skinny guys can't be seme, don't be ridiculous.

Edgar feels himself blushing! Oh no! Who could have guessed this would happen by the amount of time I spent describing Scriabin's handsome features? THIS IS A SHOCKING TWIST! Edgar is deeply ashamed.

How can I be attracted to him! Edgar thinks to himself, burning with shameful shame of a burning sort (not the STD kind of burning) and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps...aroused? Of his own free will? OUR VIRGINAL EDGAR? Where could this fic be going? He raped me! He's a vicious manhandling brute, and I'm supposed to marry Nny tomorrow! I can't entertain such lascivious thoughts!

Of course people use the word lascivious in their personal thoughts. Don't be ridiculous.

Scriabin, his ego huge and ungainly, of course notices Edgar staring and strikes a pose. "Like what you see, baby?"

"No!" Edgar says, trying to hang on to whatever is left of his virtue and self-control and character, whatever shreds still cling to him at this point. "I'm engaged! I have no interest in you, you rapist!"

"You're engaged TO a rapist." Scriabin points out. Zing. "Besides, I can see you're interested by the look in your bedroom eyes." On that topic wtf is bedroom eyes, I have no idea how that's supposed to be sexy or what it even looks like. That phrase drives me nuts. "You want me." Scriabin wiggles his hips, which always looks sexy and not stupid. You can never wiggle your hips and just look like you want to get a weasel out of your pants. "Edgar wants me, wants me baaaad~"

"I do not!" Edgar puts his hands on his own hips and just start girlfighting already you guys, jesus. "You're a terrible flirt!"

"But you like it!" Scriabin holds his arms out, displaying his milky white creamy pale skin that all vampire fics have a strange fascination over. "Don't deny your desire, Edgar, give in to the sexiness. You can't resist the added power of vampirism! That doubles anyone's sexiness tenfold, even if you're one of those people that would look hideous really pale."

"Never!" Edgar turns his back on Scriabin, crossing his arms, but still he thought about when Scriabin raped him earlier, and all those other times. He hated it then, so why did he want to do it now? Oh why, oh why was life so cruel to him? This was the worst thing in the world, even worse than starving to death in an alley or finding out you have cancer or losing your parents in a traumatic car crash! Nothing is worse than not knowing who to have sex with! Edgar keeps blushing because everyone does that when they're embarrassed. EVERYONE. "I love Nny more than I'll ever love you!"

"If that's true, then why won't you look at me? Look at me and tell me I don't make you scalding hot." Scriabin employs logic that, for some reason, is impenetrable in cases like these. Edgar, having no idea what else to do, turns and tries to do what Scriabin said. But lo, seeing his naked body again roused in him a firey flaming fire of passionate flames! This was so wrong!

"I don't want you!" Edgar said, even as his hands made uncontrollable graspy motions. Scriabin just smirked like the bird-eating sociopath he is and reached out to take Edgar in his arms. Oh no! What will happen with the engagement? Oh god, I can't live unless I know if the fictional characters will successfully get married! I have to know!

A loud buzzing sound interrupts Edgar and Scriabin's mounting sexual tension, and a chainsaw cuts the door to the bathroom in half. Johnny pokes his head in shortly thereafter, chainsaw still merrily buzzing away in one hand.

"Got tired of lockpicking. Are you okay, Eddybumpkin?" God it is so hard to type that. Then he notices Scriabin. "Why are you naked?"

Edgar, overwhelmed with guilt and shame and shameful guilt, throws himself at Johnny, causing him to drop his chainsaw and send it buzzing across the floor. "Oh Nny, I missed you so much!"

Johnny, mildly puzzled, decides that he might as well take advantage of this and begins groping Edgar. "Alright, whatever."

Scriabin, still standing there naked next to an overflowing shower stall, puts his white hands on his white hips. "Well, we'll see about that. I'll have Edgar for myself just yet!"

I have set up such a masterful conflict here guys, can't you see?? How will they ever get out of this one?! I am so good at this, for serious. This kind of love triangle plot never gets old ever. And that's all you need for a fic! Of course it's a plot and not just teenage soap opera-ish dithering! Don't you read ANY fanfic at all?

So Johnny gropes Edgar which is entirely appropriate and no one ever not feels like being groped. Pretend that sentence didn't have a double negative in it. Scriabin, frustrated at his lack of Edgar, turns into a bat with sunglasses and flies out of the room, leaving the water on. You're part of the problem, Scriabin.

So, days go by that were fairly uneventful, or at least what could pass for uneventful in this house, until the day of the wedding! No they didn't hire a wedding planner or decide on a cake and a band and flowers and a location and what kind of paper for the invitation and who's coming and who's not coming because they just said it would happen and now it's happening. HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.

So they're in a church, because that's the only place anyone ever has a wedding ever, and also because a church and a priest would just love to marry two gay men, one of which is an admitted psychopath. They eat that stuff up with one of those fancy Vatican forks, which I bet has a lot of gold and jewels on it. FOR THE LORD.

There's a shocking amount of people at the wedding, because god knows Nny and Edgar have so many friends who'd be willing to see their joyous union. Hey, there's Noodleboy! Ha ha, isn't he hilarious? I'd write some dialogue for him but it pains me inside to do that, so just string random words together in your head instead. It's exactly the same.

All the stupid minor characters from the comic are here, but I don't feel like describing them all. Even my attention span has limits. Hey look there's Survey Guy. And that dude with the hotdog in his mouth! He still has that hotdog in his mouth. Squee and Pepito aren't here because they're like ten and have to go to school.

There's only one really important person in the crowd though, and that's Devi! Since Devi is the only person that Johnny ever showed any real affection towards and the only person that he seems to continue having feelings for, Johnny and Devi hate each other now. Also, Devi is an evil cackling witch harpy, because she's female and in a badfic and that's the default setting for female characters. Tenna if she's here will be the other setting, which is cheering faghag, despite how completely nonsensical that is. SINCE WHEN DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE SENSE.

Devi wrings her hands and twirls her evil moustache. AT THE SAME TIME. "Ha ha, I'll ruin this wedding! Johnny doesn't deserve to be happy, unless it's with me! Then I will feed him to my toothed vagina, which is the goal of every woman! Beware of us, men!" Devi cackles like a mad scientist. Now there's something I'd like to see, Devi the mad scientist. That could be interesting.

"How could you frown on their totally natural love?" Tenna says from beside her where she is squeaking Spooky nonstop because that is her only identifiable character trait in badfic. "THEY'RE SO MEANT TO BE! I HOPE THEY HAVE SEX RIGHT ON THE ALTAR!"

"Soon my evil plans will come to fruition! No one can fight against the almighty evil of the vagina! Bwa ha ha ha!"

Meanwhile, Dib is here too because lol Invader Zim crossover NO ONE'S EVER THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE!!!!! He's got some kind of crazy alien searching gear on and is asking people if they've seen Zim around because having a gay obsession with Zim is his only character trait in bad fic. What other paranormal phenomenon? What? He doesn't have family, what are you talking about. Also he cuts, because lol Dib is totally a cutter. He's also weeping pretty crystalline tears while he does this, because Dib is just so fragile and beautiful and incomplete without Zim to make him whole (in his butt, in case that wasn't clear). Dib has no personality since Zim has it all for him.

So where are our stars of the show? Hmm, that is a good question! Let's do a dramatic zoom down one of the corridors of the church. Of course I can describe scenes in terms of camera changes, that's awesome. NO ONE EVER DOES THAT! THAT MAKES IT GOOD!

Let's zoom in on Edgar, who is getting dressed in some room being attended by giggling faghag girls and some flamboyantly gay guys. You know, the stock original characters in slash fic. Edgar is begin fitted for a white dress, because again, he's barely a man at this point. Of course it has to be adjusted for his big ol pregnant belly which is terrifying. Terrifying I tell you.

"Oh you look so good girlfriend" Gay stereotype one says with a flick of the wrist as he pins up some hem or does some clothes thing, heck I don't sew. I should probably wax lyrical about Edgar's dress here for full effect but I'm no good at that kind of thing. It is white and embroidered and has a long train and he's wearing some kind of veil thing, or something.

"Do you really think so?" Edgar asks all weepy eyed, because he's just so selfconscious. "I think I look ugly all pregnant."

Which is true though.

"Don't be silly! That's you guys' love child!" says Faghag one, who giggles. "It's so wonderful that you guys are getting together, you are such a cute couple! You fit so perfectly!"

Yeah, they have so many interests and personality traits in common.

"It's too bad Scriabin isn't here to see me and be my best man." Would that make Edgar his own best man? Huh. "It's a shame he threw that tantrum and broke things and refused to come, don't you think?"

"Honey, your exposition is just all that!!" Gay stereotype one helpfully contributes, flicking back his bleach blond hair. "He's just a sillypants anyway, it's better that he didn't come. He'd spoil your lovely wedding, sweetcheeks."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Edgar says doubtfully. No, they ARE right Edgar. You should know this by now.

"Do you think that evil witch Devi is out there?" says random faghag. "I hope not! She's such a homophobe! Homophobes deserve to die in a fire, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, definitely!" says random faghag 2. "She's just so mean! Imagine, her trying to force sex on a gay man! I don't know where she got the idea that Nnychan loves her, because he doesn't!" And secretly faghag 2 thinks about how Nnychan should love her instead, because she would treat him right, but she does not say this outloud.

Let's cut to Johnny now! He's just lounging around because putting on a tux is easy as cake but putting on a dress takes an hour for some reason. He has a beer in one hand and is slouched down watching the game. He belches and scratches himself, because that's how all men act, and since the seme is really the only man in the relationship that's how he is acting now. Since he doesn't need to have tittering gay people fretting over his hair, he just has some other guys in there with him, all of which are basically stock male stereotype one, which is the one I just described. Someone scores a run or punches someone or something, they all cheer and spill beer everywhere. It's a fun time for everyone.

"I can't believe you're getting hitched!" says guy. "We should have at least thrown you a bachelor party, Nny my man."

"Yeah, you need to get laid before you get the ol ball and chain, am I right guys?" And everyone LOLs. That's exactly how to describe that.

Let's cut out of here to the altar, where the priest is setting up whatever is needed for a wedding, which I guess is the bible but heck I don't know. The priest is totally okay with this by the way.

So stuff happens, chattering, blah blah, and the strains of that wedding song begin playing, and Edgar walks down the aisle...wait Edgar has no family, he can't walk with his father. Well he walks by himself then. It's all beautiful and touching and everyone is crying and not laughing at the pregnant man in the wedding dress. Edgar himself is crying because THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF HIS LIFE GUYS OMG1!!!!

Edgar takes his place at the front, and Johnny saunters in after him because no one cares about the groom or when he comes in. Psssh.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

Scriabin vampires in, his pale skin all milky white and creamy, like marble. Someone stares directly at him and becomes blind. That's what happens when you don't leave a note. About sunglasses for staring at ultra-pale vampires.

"SORRY I'M LATE" Scriabin shouts, obviously drunk and possibly high. "I WENT TO GO GET A PIZZA BUT THEY WERE CLOSED."

"Shut up, Scriabin!" Edgar hisses. Scriabin blinks at him blearily and points at him.

"Hey, don't tell me to shut up on my wedding day!"

"It's MY wedding day and shut up!"

"Have you ever really thought about that though? I mean really thought about that?" Scriabin waves his hands all vaguely. I sure hope they're having this wedding at night. "I mean, we're both getting married, right? Isn't that weird?"

Dib drags Scriabin down into his chair, because he was the first character that came to mind. Everyone applauds, uproariously. The sound continues, growing in volume until the entire place is fairly shaking with the mad cheering, foot stamping, and furious clapping of a crowd gone insane.

Suddenly it's all quiet and a hush falls over the crowd as they remember the sacred occasion.

"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of one Edgar Vargas and Johnny KUMBAYAH. This is indeed a blessed day." And then pretend I knew the rest of the wedding speech and that I wrote it out here because I don't.

Edgar is still weeping because he can't stop because THIS IS JUST SO BEAUTIFUL THIS IS HIS DAY FOREVER AND EVER OH HE HOPES THE PHOTOGRAPHER IS TAKING SHOTS OF THIS while Johnny is mildly buzzed and considering where or not he should grope Edgar while the old guy is talking.

"MORE BEER" Scriabin shouts from wherever he's sitting. "HEY WAIT, AREN'T I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING SOMETHING?"

Hmm, I don't recall.

"And if anyone has any reason why these two should not be totally gay married, speak now or shut up forever."

Both Scriabin and Devi stand up at the same time.

"NO, HE SHOULD MARRY ME!"

Everyone tries to turn to stare at them both and can't, so they just keep ratcheting their heads back and forth like sprinklers.

"Scriabin, what are you doing!" Edgar shrieks like a girl.

"Who are you again?" Johnny points at Devi.

"THE ONE TRUE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE" Both Scriabin and Devi shout again, then the two stare at each other with mild surprise.

"Haha, that was weird."

"Yeah, that WAS weird! We're like, braintwins or something."

"Hahahaha."

"BUT JOHNNY SHOULD MARRY ME!" Devi reminds herself of the problem at hand, and continues pointing like Phoenix Wright, except he would never get involved in something this stupid. "I LOVE HIM!"

"But I don't love you! I'm in a badfic now! Things are different!" Johnny says for a moment, his eyes briefly watering as some canon tries to come back, only to die a lonely death.

"I can't marry you, we're the same person!" Edgar says with some exasperation.

"DON'T RUIN THE SHOW, DEVI! TEE HEE!" Tenna says while still squeaking Spooky.

Hmm, again we're at two paths here, and I'm not sure which one to choose! One of these is longer than the other, but both would be kind of fun. The first path would have Devi turn into some kind of evil womonster so there can be a climactic battle, then when she is defeated everyone lives happily ever after. The other is that Devi can kidnap Johnny, and Scriabin could kidnap Edgar, and then they'd make our two protagonists their sex slaves and lots of humiliation/pining/angst would ensue until they wage a daring escape and reunited, never to be parted again.

Hmm. I actually don't know what to do. I guess I'll have to think about it. Hmm.